The Mechanics of Being a Hero
by Gypsy Feet
Summary: She turns to face him slowly, her eyes wide and unsure, breath dusted with the scent of wine. He doesn’t move when she cups his cheek with her spare hand and what could have been falls to pieces in her eyes.xOneshotx


**_The Mechanics of Being a Hero._**

_**By:** _Em

**_Betaed: _**yup, ta Izzie!

**_Summary:_** She turns to face him slowly, her eyes _wide_ and _unsure_, breath dusted with the scent of _wine_. He doesn't move when she cups his cheek with her spare hand and _what could have been_ falls to pieces in her eyes.

**_A/N:_** Not my normal, but then, writing is fun when it's whacked out :)

_II_

_003. a place between sleep and awake;  
end of innocence, unending masquerade_

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_**and Sweden ends.**_

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Her thoughts are noise and everything's _ringing, ringing_ in her memories. It's a jumble and confusing and all she knows is the steady beat of her heart and the sharp rushes of breath dancing in the early morning air.

The walking machine was a trap and all she needs is _freedom_ and the scent of _death _to stop haunting her. She sees it in her dreams and it's an elegant child with eyes that are black for want of innocence.

She feels the bite of gravel in the jolt in her knees and the heat in her shoes and she thinks _friction_ and _desperation_ and _one last goodbye_.

She stops at the lights and her life is _just there_ in front of her for a moment. It's her everything and nothing and for _one_ second living almost resembles _simple_. It passes though, like all things must.

She smiles, _darkly_, and crosses when the light turns to amber.

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_**there's no answer.** _

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He is perched carefully on the armrest of her couch, staring curiously at _someone he doesn't remember_. It's beyond late, with the promise of tomorrow _creeping_ and _curling_ in the sky.

Her left hand is clenched tightly in a fist and she's hugging her knees to her chest and just _looking_ at it. He sighs and rubs a hand over his face, stubble scraping his fingers.

He remembers a _call_, all silence except for a slow breath and the clinking of glass. There was a shade of indulgence in his voice when he murmured a husky: _I'll be there in ten._

It was a lie, but a _sum_ and an _excuse_ are all he thinks in and traffic was bad for five am.

She spreads her hand open, fingers stretched out, and whispers quietly: '_This is my gun.'_

He stares curiously at her hand, _smooth_ and _pale_ and _empty_. He shifts into motion until he is towering above her, before sliding till they are shoulder to shoulder in a parody of _friendship_, sprawled on the ground.

'_Alright Allison,'_ he returns as he dances his fingers along her palm.

She turns to face him slowly, her eyes _wide_ and _unsure_, breath dusted with the scent of _wine_. He doesn't move when she cups his cheek with her spare hand and _what could have been_ falls to pieces in her eyes.

Instead he ends up with a numb arm and _Allison Cameron_ asleep on his shoulder.

_II_

_**the light shatters.** _

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She's sitting on _Agatha McMillan_'s gravestone, legs spread a little for balance's sake, when he finds her. She's fingering a white rose with _one two three_ holes in her fingers from the thorns.

He stands next to her, head tilted as if to say:_ what's this then?_ She pulls at her _green_ dress that's hitched up a little, heat tingling in her cheeks. She tugs the petals off, one by one; it's _now or later_ singing in her mind instead of _loves me loves me not_ and that feels like some sort of treachery.

'_I went to a wedding today,'_ she tells him, tracing a blur of white as it _glides_ to the ground.

He nods self-importantly but doesn't speak. They _linger_ curiously on the intimacy in this, there's something new to the angle of their profiles. Finally he pushes a curl of her hair from her shoulder, and her neck prickles with _exposure_.

'_You have a hickey,'_ he informs her, ghosting a fingeralong the graceful curve.

'_Last night,'_ she informs him, and her _safe distance_ is broken in pieces at her feet with the petals.

He breathes and it might have been a _laugh_ or a _sigh_ but she doesn'tmove when he leaves.

'_Later'_ is _last _and lying on the ground.

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_**an orphan cries.** _

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He walks in to find tears _clinging_ to her lashes and thecredits for The Notebook rolling up her T.V. screen. '_Bad day at work_' twists with a silent awkwardness betweenthem as he helps himself to her beer.

'_I locked the door,'_ she murmurs tiredly.

He shrugs and flicks a bent bobby pin at her. They return their attention to the screen. 'S_tarring Ryan Gosling,'_ it informs them. Two beers are finished before '_menu selection'_ paints the television.

'_I hate that movie_,' he tells her casually.

She twitches a smile at him _mechanically_, just a motion with no feeling. He _brushes_ a hand across her lips carefully.

It's his turn for gentle _rejection_.

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.fin.

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End file.
